Dead
by Licorice Tears
Summary: How our favorite little Dark Lord could have died. ONESHOT.


Enjoy!

I know, different from my usual depressing stuff. Hey, I was bored!

_**Diclaimer:** _I own the world! Mwah-ha-ha!

Drumroll, please...ways voldie dies!(some are pre-books, some entirely AU.) Each scene is not related to the other, and they are not linear, but written down as I soon as I thought them. Also, in the second scene, I forgot what he actually said, so, too bad, I had to use my scant few memories to make it up. Not sure if it's right, though. And I know they are techinical difficulties in the boggart chapter, but I really have no idea what the spell could do to make Lucius's boggart funny to him.

* * *

1.

Eleven year old Tom Marvolo Riddle walked through a door to face the brick wall leading to Diagon Alley. He watched as a wizard tapped a few red bricks, and a hole in the wall appeared gradually, like magic. Which, he noted dryly, it was.

He hastened quickly to step through as soon as the wizard walked through, just in case it was a sadistic type of wall that liked to seal people alive.

Which it was.

One foot closer, one foot in, two feet in, _uh-oh, __I'm stuck!_, and the wall closed.

With him in it.

With a muffled scream, the Voldemort-that-never-was was sealed in by brick mortar, and died, a very, very, horrible death.

The next day, a first-year coming to get her school supplies opened the wall and screamed.

* * *

2.

Peter Pettigrew, a certain Death Eater, also known once as Wormtail, slowly lifted up a knife and slit a certain green-eyed hero's arm, trembling.

"Blood of the foe," he proclaimed shakily, "you will renew your enemy."

He caught the blood in a vial, forgetting to bandage the wound, and letting it drip on the ground, forming a bloody, slick, puddle almost directly next to the cauldron. He threw the blood into the cauldron, and mist rose out of it, the water churning and bubbling.

Suddenly, he heard a cold voice coming out of the cauldron, calling him, and hurried to robe the newly resurrected Dark Lord.

But, lo and behold!, as Voldemort slid out of the cauldron, he wasn't watching carefully, and wrapped up in his glee, triumph, and anticipation, he tripped in the puddle of blood and dropped, falling and smashing his head against the same object that had brought him to life.

And so the rim of the huge metal bowl crashed against his forehead, caving his forehead in, and ...

He died.

* * *

3.

Tom Marvolo Riddle, sixteen year old self-proclaimed Dark Lord, walked along the lake in Hogwarts.

He couldn't wait until when he would be able to toss _Crucios _at all those, irritaing, childish, _children. _If the Slytherins in his year were the only hopes of any future Mudblood and Muggle extinction, then he was going to pray very, very, hard for the future.

Idiots.

Glancing around furtively to check if anyone was watching, he rolled up the sleeves of his robes and dipped his arms elbow-deep into the water, for it wouldn't do for the other students to see him relaxing at the lake. He did have dignity, and a reputaion to maintain, after all. Raising his head, he sighed at the feel of the cold water against his arms, the wind cooling upper arms, the slimy tentacles slowing crawling up his elbow, and-

What?

_Slimy tentacles!? _

He looked down in horrow, to see wet, pink tentacles gripping his forearms and dragging him down. Barely suppressing a scream, because if the other Slytherins saw him, his reputation would be _ruined_, he tried to grasp his wand, only to realize that his arms were stuck. He was helpless.

_Uh-oh._

The Giant Squid pulled him down into the water, and the rest is history.

Needless to say, the squid had a _wonderfully _delicious dinner, and Tom Riddle was never heard from again.

* * *

4.

Red-eyes glared into a mirror, pale fingers straightening his robes.

Voldemort preened, oblivious to the fact that he was very likely the ugliest man alive. He _did _have to look his best for the Death Eater meeting today. After all, he was Lord Voldemort, and vainity was his way of life.

He looked at his reflection in the mirror again, peering carefully.

The mirror cracked.

Hmm? He looked at the crack in the mirror again, still trying to straighten his robes and smoothing nonexistent wrinkles. He looked closer, and...

The mirror shattered violently, sending shards of glass towards Voldemort, one coming straight at him and piercing his heart, brain, and hideous, slitted, red eyes.

Quite obviously, he died.

The power he knows not? The power of his ugliness.

* * *

5.

"Class!" the professor boomed. "The spell we will use to defend against the boggart is _Riddikulus. _Repeat after, me, _Riddikulus._"

"_Riddikulus,_" the class repeated dutifully, in a monotone.

Ridiculous, that's right, Tom thought, bored. The correct way to fight a boggart would be too blast it to bloody smithereens with a well-aimed Blasting Curse, or, even better, capture it and use it against your enemies. Why use a silly spell like _Ridikulus_?

"Now we're going to take turns using the spell against the boggart. Line up single-file." the professor called to the class.

Tom glowered silently as he lined up. Useless waste of time, this was.

He watched as the student in front of him, Lucius Malfoy, faced the boggart and was confronted with with an image of himself with bad hair day. Tom and the rest of the class sniggered as they watched him stammer _Riddikulus_, and see the boggart turn into a more perfect version of a smirking Lucius Malfoy.

Then it was his turn. He tensed, unprepared, because he had no idea what he was afraid of most, and didn't know what the boggart would turn into.

The boggart transformed from Malfoy into his worst nightmare.

Were those butterflies? And puppies? Unicorns and kittens? Flowers!?

He screamed in horror and, faced with such a horrible, disgusting, apparition, he suffered a heart attack and promptly died.

The class laughed, and laughed, and laughed. And laughed. And laughed.

And laughed some more.

* * *

6.

A green snake slithered through the forest floor, carpeted with dying leaves.

Now, this snake was no ordinary snake. Or rather, it was, but now it wasn't. This snake happened to be possesed by our very own Lord Moldy Shorts, and so was slithering toward a Death Eater camp.

Voldemort crept towards the camp, not noticing a certain Death Eater, who happened to have a phobia of snakes, watching him in terror. Well, not noticing him until he was suddenly _Stupified_ by him. The Death Eater walked over and stared at the snake.

Then he stomped on it's neck, killing the snake, or rather, Voldemort.

But Voldemort's Horcruxes saved him again, and one of his Horcrues revived him immediately, and re-possesed the snake.

So the Death Eater snapped the snake's neck again.

And again.

And again.

And again, until Voldemort had died so many times that he was actually dead.

Unfortunately for the Death Eaters, who had been on a journey to try and find and ressurect the Dark Lord. Although rather pointless to say, since I'm sure you have gathered this by now, they never found him.

* * *

7.

Voldemort glared angrily at the Death Eater cowering before him.

"Traitor," he hissed.

The man sobbed and pleaded for mercy, trembling and frightened out of his wits.

He smiled cruelly at the sight of the Death Eater crying. He always did like the display they made before he kiiled them. They knew they had no hope, but it was amusing to watch them plead.

"_Crucio."_

The man screamed, writhing in pain. Voldemort laughed and flipped his wand slowly, to scare him. Unconscious of the fact that his wand had landed _pointing the wrong way, _ he prepared to cast the Killing Curse.

"_Avada Kedavra._"

A flash of green light.

The Death Eater raised his head, wondering why nothing had happened to him, and saw a Voldemort crumpled on his throne, his body limp and, was that _dead?_

* * *

Review and I'll give you cookies!


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